Don't let it show
by Dragunov888
Summary: Agdar prepares to make a very fateful decision regarding the future of his daughters and Arendal. (One Shot)
Written in response the 3rd day of Elsa's Birthday appreciation week a little (roughly 5 months) late, the prompt being "Agdar gives Elsa the gloves." In it we see some of the thoughts of Agdar as he makes a very fateful decision.

…

Late Summer, 1827

The Royal Palace, Arendal

Agdar stepped down the hallway at a quick pace, eager to distance himself from what had proven to be a _very_ obnoxious council meeting. It was one of those days that he wished he allowed himself harder refreshments than mere wine, but he was also wise enough to know that wasn't a good idea either.

 _Besides, if I went down that road again, Idun would kill me._

Instead, as he reached the hallway's end, a sight came upon him that proved to be both one of his greatest stressors, as well as one of his greatest stress relievers.

Little Anna was running up and down the hallway playing with a number of toys scattered about the hallway. As a princess she had a sizeable collection of course, perhaps too large of a collection. Then again, Agdar had always admitted to himself that he was prone to spoiling his children. As such, Anna's toys seemed to change from day to day, and today it was some of his toy soldiers from his own youth, as well as some additions he had Kai purchase when they were expecting Elsa.

Agdar remembered that when first Elsa and later Anna had received some "boyish toys", a number of both the female household staff and some of his advisors had quietly attempted to correct him. After all, as future Princesses, they were to focus on managing the household and raising children, not fighting or strategy.

He kindly told them to go screw themselves.

Perhaps it was because Agdar had wanted a son. And with them taking the Trolls' advice both Idun and he had decided that until Elsa was "better", for lack of a better word, that it was best to not have any more children. As it was, he expected both his daughters to be leaders. And in his book, that meant leading from the front, fighting with the boys.

But if Anna was getting some potential tactics from his toy soldiers, it was likely not today. On Anna's battlefield, somehow Scottish Highlanders, the French Imperial Guard and some Russian Grenadiers found themselves in a mob facing another mob of Prussian Hussars and the Freikorps. Anna had an odd thing for pirates at the moment, and thanks to the skulls on their uniforms, she kept identifying some of the Prussians as "Pirates".

Smiling, Agdar watched as his 5-year-old played before she caught a glance of him with her large inquisitive eyes and preceded to shriek "Papa!" with an enthusiasm that only a young child could muster. She rose for a moment, running over to hug her father's leg, before running back to her toys in a matter of a few seconds.

At this point Agdar knelt down to get a close look at his daughter's play, where like many a proud child, she began to showcase what she had found novel today. One of the first was simple enough. She grouped a number of the toys together, positioning cannon before simulating cannon fire with her mouth and sweeping the poor toys away.

And it happened. For a second, Agdar was more than a decade younger on the fields of Belgium watching as number of his men were torn to pieces by French cannon firing canister shot against them in a desperate attempt to stop the Allies from overwhelming their positions. Their screams still in his ears, Agdar was once again in the present.

And as he was so familiar with, a deep chill clutched him as his heart began to race and panic overtook him but for a second. But like many tasks of soldiering, he had a drill to counter it, as no self-respecting man should let fear overcome him, or even show itself.

As such, Agdar took a deep breath in, holding it for a second before letting it go, followed by a number of follow up controlled breathes to reclaim control of his respiratory system, and therefore his heart-rate and nerves as well.

In addition to all of this, he had a mantra he used to calm himself. It worked on the battlefields of Germany, Belgium and France; it worked during his darkest moments following the war; and it certainly worked now. It was too simple.

 _Conceal it._

 _Don't Feel it._

 _Don't let it show._

A few seconds passed before the moment passed, and he would have once again watch his daughter play in peace at least for a little while, if other parenting needs didn't rear their heads in the form of his senior maid, Gerda.

"Your Majesty." She spoke in a very calm manner, as though nothing was wrong. But the look she had on her face was one that Agdar had grown too used to- the look of trouble that should not be repeated in front of Anna. Which in this case, almost always meant Elsa.

Agdar disliked it, but both himself and Idun agreed that in addition to separating the two girls and keeping Anna in the dark about Elsa's magic, that Elsa's troubles should not made aware to Anna. After all, Anna didn't need to fret herself over her sister's troubles any more than she needed to fret over many of his own.

In any case, he had to leave. "I'm sorry Anna, but I have some business to attend to. You enjoy yourself now." She had a slightly sad expression as she had not shown him everything she wished, but even at the age of 5 Anna had learned never to impede her father when it came to business. So with a less than enthused tone, she replied. "Bye Papa."

"I'll see you at dinner, Anna." He leaned in and kissed her on her forehead, before standing up and turning to leave with Gerda.

Both solemnly left down the hallway, with only the sound of clicking heels and medals jingling before both felt far enough away to begin discussing the problem. Gerda, being the bearer of the trouble, began first.

"I am sorry Your Majesty, but Elsa has frozen her window sill again. She's terrified that she's losing control, and that damned book about King Midas she read a month before the accident isn't helping any."

 _So much for the value of the classic stories._

Agdar sighed, before turning to Gerda. "I know. But I think I have a solution to Elsa problem, at least until she can get a grip on her powers."

"I hope so, your Majesty. I still feel no good can come from us listening to trolls, but I defer to your judgement."

As the duo approached the door in question Gerda bowed and made her exit, letting the King handle the parenting. Both girls were already quite familiar with the matronly maid, and the last thing Gerda wished was for her to eclipse their own mother. And while Idun was busy with business in Grimstad, she felt that Agdar was sufficient for the issue at hand.

As Agdar stood in front of the door he reached his hand in his pocket, feeling his secret weapon: a pair of children's gloves. While the possibility was that the cloth could possibly block the magic from coming out, Agdar honestly doubted this. After all, he had seen Elsa create magic through the stomping of a shoe. Instead he figured a placebo effect might give Elsa the confidence to control her power, a safety if you will. If Elsa believed that the gloves would honestly catch the magic, or at the very least could be taught to use the gloves as buffer or a dam to catch it, she would fear her magic less and therefore gain confidence. And if she gained confidence, well, she could control and suppress it.

Not only that, but the idea gloves held another value to Agdar himself: a sentimental value. Before many a battle, he had found himself massaging his fingers on the inside of his riding gloves. He usually took them off as he found them an impairment to using a rifle (the use of such made him an odd fellow in the officer corps, but damned their opinion), but still, it was surprisingly comfort to feel the soft, rough skin leather beneath his fingers. Perhaps Elsa would feel like-wise with the linen ones she would receive today.

As he prepared to knock, he once again felt a nervous fear overtake him. Unlike the flashback that plagued him minutes before, this had little to do with the war. Instead, this was a fear that Gerda was right. That instead of protecting his precious daughters, that both the separation and the fear of the curse itself would scar one or perhaps both of his daughters for life. And the thought that he was possibly hurting the thing he loved most in the world, even more than his wife and country… well, it terrified him.

But it didn't matter. How could he expect Elsa to be brave or confident if he couldn't do the same? As such, he repeated his breathing drill and whispered his mantra yet again underneath his breath.

 _Conceal it._

 _Don't feel it._

 _Don't let it show._

Then he knocked.


End file.
